


A Normal Child

by rei_c



Series: Cannibalism Aside (Samn) [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, I'm Bad At Tagging, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV John Winchester, POV Kate Milligan, Parent John Winchester, Secret Relationship, Secrets, home-schooling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's wrong, John knows, but he feels like this might be his chance, his redemption, a way to apologise to the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Normal Child

"If you ever need me," John had said, "for anything, anytime, at all, call this number." 

Kate's been looking at the piece of paper he'd scribbled on for the last three months. She'd asked him at the time why he didn't just leave her number and the sad smile on his face had broken her heart. He'd said something about his job, about how he gets a new number all the time, about how he's awful with technology and it's better this way. She wasn't sure then how much she believed him but she kept the piece of paper. Good thing, too -- it's in her hand and she's holding her phone, trying to decide whether to call or not. 

They'd spent three days together once John had been discharged from the hospital. He'd never told her why he was there all banged up, looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with a prizefighter and then got knocked out of a three-story window, and she hadn't pried after the first couple attempts. He had explained the wedding ring, though, and when he talked about his wife, dead for years now, he almost looked like her death was still a fresh wound waiting to scar over. He was rough around the edges, sure, and she'd been sure that his life rode a tense edge of violence, but -- something about him was soft, too. 

She'd been the one to pursue him, to bring him back to hers for coffee, the first one to make the move. He'd hesitated but she'd asked, kissed him with a question, and he'd groaned under her mouth and been gentle that night, almost bordering on reverent. Kate had never had anyone like that before and it just about destroyed her when he told he had to leave, self-hatred in his eyes as he'd added, "I've been gone too long," like he'd missed an important day and done it with full knowledge, spent it with her in bed, fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen, giving her car an oil change, and hated himself for it but made the decision and is going to stick with it, now, no regrets. 

She always knew he was going to leave but three days wasn't enough and she dreamt about him for days after he was gone, heard the rumble of his car everywhere she went. Kate knows why, now. She places a hand over her belly, sets her phone down again, leans back in the chair at the kitchen table and looks at the ceiling. "I have no idea what to do," she whispers. "Oh, baby, I have no idea what to do." 

\--

His pager goes off and John jumps at the noise. He glances up from the books Bobby sent over and looks around, sees the boys stretched out on their stomachs, a blanket underneath them as a lackluster cushion over the thin carpet, Dean pointing at a book and Sam speaking too quietly for John to hear. He's not sure what they're reading; home-schooling might be a pain in the ass sometimes but Dean likes it and Sam's almost keeping up with his brother, might even finish high school a few years early at this rate. 

Sometimes John's boys scare him -- but that's stupid. There's no reason for that, not even with the way Dean's eyes gleam in the night, sometimes, or the way Sam's whole being is attuned to his brother, otherwise silent and disinterested in the world, unwilling to interact with it in any way. Mary would be disappointed, he thinks, in how he's raising her boys, but she'd approve of their bond, anyway. She always wanted them to be close. 

Maybe it's a good thing she's not around to see how close they really are, though: Sam only eating food from Dean's plate; the two of them sleeping in the same bed, naked half the time, twisted and knotted together like two balls of yarn hopelessly and irreconcilably entangled; the way Dean responds to every iota of Sam's attention like a flower seeking out the sun. 

John's fucked up, he knows he has, but at least they'll always have each other and -- 

The pager goes off again; John checks the number, sees that both have been from Jim. There's not a working phone line in this house but there's a payphone at the end of the street. John stands up, can't help but notice how he instantly has two pairs of eyes watching him, and stretches. 

"Jim," he says, picking up the pager, waving it a little. "I'm gonna go down to the corner, call him and see what's up. Dean, keep an eye on your brother." 

Someday Sam's going to get annoyed at that -- John hopes, anyway -- but Dean simply nods, smiles, says, "Always." 

The way he says it sends chills down John's back. 

\--

The walk to the payphone only takes three minutes but he gets another page from Jim halfway there. John's starting to get worried, now, and he picks up the pace, punches Jim's number in. 

The phone doesn't even finish ringing once before Jim's saying, "John," like he's relieved to hear from John, like he thought maybe something was wrong. "I'm all right," Jim says, instantly, "but -- there's someone here who needs to talk to you." 

"Okay," John says, close to hesitant. Anyone else would've paged him direct, he's racking his brain trying to think of who it might be -- and then his blood runs cold when he hears her voice. 

"John," Kate says. "John, oh god, thank god." 

He swallows, says, "Kate," and closes his eyes, leans his forehead against the phone box. "What's wrong? What's happened?" 

She laughs, sounds near to tears, that or she's been crying for days and has finally stopped enough to talk. "I don't know how it -- we must not've been -- I'm pregnant. John, I'm pregnant." 

John's heart stops. Kate hadn't been with anyone for months before him, doesn't seem like the type to go out the night after he left to pick someone else up. If she's calling, then she's _sure_. January, the week of Dean's birthday, and it's June now -- she has to be, what, 21, 22 weeks along? Holy shit.

"Yeah," Kate says, steadier now but not by much. "That's about what I thought." 

"It's healthy?" John asks, before he stops, says, "Sorry, I -- are you -- have -- will you." 

Kate laughs, as if hearing how fucked up John is by this news might be reassuring. "It's healthy," she says. "It's a boy, John. And I -- I'd like to keep him. I know it's stupid but my parents said they'd help and -- I don't expect you to --" 

She stops there; John grimaces. He's going to -- if she keeps the kid -- a _boy_ \-- he's going to need to come clean with her. "I'm sorry," he says, and the honest regret in his voice almost startles him. "I'll try to help out, I will, but my life isn't -- anything you need, anytime, if I can, I will, promise." 

"You don't have to," Kate says, quiet now. "That's not why I called. I just wanted you to know." 

"When're you due?" John asks. "I'll be there."

There's a pause and then Kate asks, "What about your kids?" 

Jim told her, then; he must've thought John had, or hadn't even realised he was bringing them up. John winces, says, "I can leave them with one of their uncles for a couple weeks."

"What will you tell them?" Kate asks. "Will I -- could I meet them?" 

"No," John says, an instant response from the bottom of his stomach. "It's not -- I don't think they'd appreciate a brother very much," he says, careful. "They're not exactly -- it's better for now if they don't know a thing. If that ever changes, I'll tell them, I'll ease them into it eventually but I think, for now, they don't need to know." He pauses, lets out a deep breath at the thought of what his boys might do faced with a younger brother, even a half-brother. "I'm not ashamed," John says, wants Kate to understand. "I'm not. I'm thrilled, I'm so -- that you're keeping him, that he's healthy, god, a son." 

One without Mary's illness. One with the hope of a normal life -- little league and birthday parties and temper tantrums and the firm belief that girls have cooties. It's wrong, John knows, but he feels like this might be his chance, his redemption, a way to apologise to the world for having a seven-year-old fluent in Latin and ancient Greek and French, for having an eleven-year-old who knows how to drive and field-strip a gun and gut a monster. A child, a son, with a normal life, outside of hunting, outside of everything, the normal fears and worries a normal child has. 

"I was thinking Adam," she says. "My grandfather, it was his name. If that's -- I mean, if you." 

"Adam," John says, interrupting her. "I like it. Love it. It's perfect."

There's a long silence between them; John wishes he was there, wishes he could wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight and kiss her and tell her everything's going to be all right, that she won't have to worry because he'll never bring anything back to her, to their son. 

At the same time, he wishes it had never happened, that he'd never agreed to meet her for dinner the day he was discharged, that he hadn't gone to that hospital, that he hadn't taken that job in Windom in the first fucking place. A son, a woman who's more than just a warm body to bury himself in, the two of them living a life outside of the madness they deal with every hour of every day -- when the boys find out, and John has no doubt that they will -- they're going to feel so very, very betrayed. 

He'll need to find a way to tell them, maybe not right away but soon, one day. They'll need to know that their own flesh and blood exists outside of their tight little three-person Winchester knot, they'll need to be taught to protect him -- Adam -- and take care of him and love him. 

"I'm due the end of September," she says. "Won't your kids be in school?"

"They're home-schooled," John says. "Dean's too far ahead in math and science to find his grade level at all interesting for those subjects, and Sam is." 

John trails off; Kate says, "Jim says that Sam's really smart, too. He's fluent in Latin? I guess it would be hard to find an elementary school teaching that." She laughs, says, "I hope the intelligence comes from you, because if Adam's counting on my brain, he'll be in trouble." 

No, it's not John. John can crack a pattern like no one's business and he's a fair hand with a rifle, sure, but the brains, those were Mary's, his precious, beautiful Mary, with her fragile psyche and her fierce, fierce mind. 

"Keep in touch with Jim," John says. "He'll keep me up to date. And let me know when you think you're close. I'll come as soon as you call." 

"Okay," she says. John aches for her, the way she sounds so small, so scared. "I -- thanks, John. I'll see you soon." 

He smiles, hopes she can hear it in his voice as he says, "See you soon," without picking up the way tears are starting to gather at the corners of his eyes. 

She hangs up and John listens to the dial tone for a few long, empty seconds before he hangs up as well. He takes a deep breath, goes back to the house, walks in the front door to see Dean putting a gun away, to see Sam press a couple knives back under the couch. John nods at them, pleased at their reflexes, and goes to the kitchen, pours a tall glass of bourbon and takes one swallow, lets the burn flush down his throat, swirl around his insides, before he dumps the rest down the drain. 

"Dad?" Dean asks. John turns around, leans back against the sink, sees Dean standing in the living room, Sam sitting cross-legged at his side. One of Dean's hands is in Sam's hair, petting, and it looks like neither of them even notice what they're doing. "Everything okay?" 

"Fine," John says. "A hunt in late September, something moon-tied," he lies. "I'll leave you with Caleb, then, if he's around. Week, maybe two, tops." 

Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowed, as if he's reading the falsehood straight from John's mind. Dean, though, just accepts it, says, "Okay," and sits back down, wraps one hand around Sam's shoulder and gives Sam just enough time to pick up the book and set it on his lap before Dean pulls Sam tight. 

They go back to studying. Sam looks up at him every so often, wary distrust in the flash of his eyes, and Dean doesn't relax, picking up on Sam's tension and mirroring it unconsciously. 

"We need some groceries," John says, five minutes later, abrupt. "I'll go pick some up. Any requests?" 

Dean and Sam look at each other, have an entire conversation that John's not privy to, and Dean's the one who answers, says, "If Lucky Charms are on sale, or the generic is? Sam hasn't had any for a few weeks now. And I think we're running out of flour and olive oil." 

Eleven, and Dean's got a better grip on the contents of their pantry than John does. He's such a shit excuse for a father. Mary would throttle him.

"Lucky Charms, flour, oil," he says. "Got it. Be -- be good, I'll be back in half an hour." 

He doesn't wait for a response, just goes, gets into the Impala and sits behind the wheel for a moment before he starts the engine and drives away from his boys.

A son. Adam.

...Fuck.


End file.
